


The Fireplace Editing Company

by Flame_Rising (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Flame_Rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of my days at the Fireplace. I really am an editor and I tell you about some of my experiences, kiddos. Set in the town of Hogsmeade, I fabricated some parts of the story to narrate everything that happened until the last days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fireplace Editing Company

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of flameaters complain I haven't written a story. So enjoy kiddos.
> 
> Those are all my real flames that were preserved in various places. Check out this story here too: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7929887/1/The_Fireplace_Editing_Company

The humid was thick in the air as per usual that Tuesday morning. Balancing my briefcase and coffee, I entered the Fireplace Editing Company, located in Hogsmeade. As I walked to my desk, I waved to my editor-in-chief; the turd out of my ass, Rita Skeeter. "Good morning," I bid her, with a bright flash of a smile. She waved back at me, enthusiastically, and returned the greeting. The feeling of importance engulfed my being, like a warm spotlight made for me. In truth I felt like a VIP.

To be candid, she was a literal ass kisser, so the natural conclusion was she must love my ass kissing. The greetings of staff members, **who are all listed in my cell phone favorites,** filled my ears when I reached my desk. As my tush was sunk in my silky puddle of cushioned seat, I felt like I was a king on my throne. Yet in a cruel twist of fate I was the pauper, expected to slog through my day to make a decent living.

The blankness of the paper in front of me stretched on forever in my mind, until shadow fell over it. I glanced up to see the new intern hovering, uncertainly over my desk. I snatched the paper from her outstretched hand, with a snarl. I quickly scanned her work and noticed a misspelling. A smirk formed on my lips as I pulled out my red pen to scribble:

_Congratulations. You are the official proof that people with more teeth than brain cells shouldn't breed with each other._

_Or at all_

_What the fuck was going through your douched-up mind when you WROTE this? That maybe a caravan of inbred clowns would stumble upon it and like it? Because they'd probably be the only ones to overlook the fact that you've told the English language to go into a corner, pull down its pants and grab its ankles._

_Or, hell, maybe that was insulting to inbred clowns everywhere._

_Now, why don't you do a favor to those clowns, and the rest of humanity, and play 52 card pick up on a freeway if you're ever tempted to post anything ever again. And, uh, make sure it's during rush hour._

_Yes?_

_Got it?_

_Good?_

_Phe-fucking-nomenal._

_F. R_

Smugly, I returned the piece of paper back to her, positive I covered all my bases. As I leaned back I studied her face to see her reaction. A perplexed reaction graced her face as she read my edit. She turned on her heel, and left without another word. A blazing fire is spreading in my insides which I desperately need to quench. But the clicking of her heels is like small firecrackers fuel the flames inside of me.

My forehead creased in a frown. Surely she could've spared a small angry reply or even a dark look. But there was nothing! If I had gotten one, I'd repeat the process; I'd eventually feel like I'm dominant over her. The need for that dominance was strong, especially necessary today. My head rested in my awaiting hands. I had let it slip to everyone that I was a star editor. While in reality, I was a low paid editor of an obscure company. So as one can imagine, I desperately wanted to feel better about myself. But unless I wanted to _work_ for it, unimaginable as that is, my first chance walked away.

I turned to see my fellow editor, Lotie Elvas, looked at me with pity. It was apparent she understood. The same desire could clearly be seen in her eyes. It was as if we were all addicts going through withdrawal. As pains of withdrawal and impatience gripped me, I wracked my attention starved brain. Like a flash, it hit me! I had an idea! "Guys," I said, a malefic smirk forming on my lips, "we have our new employee of the month!"

Everyone's head snapped towards me like hungry wolves following the scent of meat. Rach Zanican's excited clapping caused all head to snap towards her. "Yes," she exclaimed in glee, "it's been awhile!"

Lotie looked at me with the eyes of a shining predator. Luli and Nio, Nuoluli's multi personalities, were leaning up from their chair, as I announced feeding time. "Did she disregard your well deserved criticism," Empariel  Fantasi asked, her elbow slung over her chair, casually. Glazed eyes stared at me with poorly concealed desperation.

"Yeah," I drawled, my pen twirling back and forth between my fingers. My eyes slowly trailed up to my co-editors hungry faces. A silent spell hung over the office.

"Let's get to it," Nio said, with a clap his hands, breaking the silent spell like thunder.

Rach hopped up without waiting for instructions. With the concentration a hunter, she took quiet steps to Rose's desk. A bright flash and a drawled out "smile" caused Rose to look up. Only to see Rach smiling smugly while holding a Polaroid camera, emitting a picture. Without another word, Rach has spun around and made her way to her desk. There she has framed the picture in a simple frame. After which she has grabbed some stationary and scribbled on it. Finally goes to the employee wall with her finished product and hangs it up. It is Rose's framed picture with gold sheet of paper underneath, reading: Douche bag of the Month, 11/20-1/15.

"Perfect! Maybe she'll take some criticism for once and go play 52 pickup in the street!" Nio is behind Rach, admiring the handiwork. Squeaks are heard throughout the room. All the other fireplace members admiring Rach's handiwork up close as well, I am among them.

"Nice work, kiddo," I say. Rach beams as if I threw her a bone.

A thud sound captures our attention. We turned to the source of the noise to see Rose packing up her stuff. "Can't take criticism," Lotie Elvas yelled on impulse, "you should be thanking Flem Risley!" My eyes dart towards her.

Rose continues packing as if no one addressed her. "You fuck crayons don't you?" Faith called out. She had joined in as well. Her shirt aptly said 'princess of questionable morals'.

"No wonder you didn't like the criticism," Rach Zanican sneered, "it wasn't written with a crayon!"

Familiar adrenaline pumped through me as we truly begin our game to get Rose to reply. Like crickets we collectively begin chanting 'crayon fucker'. It started as a hum, some voices more distinct then grew to a dim roar. But Rose merely picked up her box without making eye contact with any of us. She passed our editor-in-chief's cubicle and knocked. This caused Rita to look up and motion her to enter. We could clearly see she had a brief dialog with Rita from here. It was most likely to complain about us. I smirked as Rita looked unfazed. I knew for certain that as a turd, she appreciated my ass kissing. As I guessed Rita didn't make any move to reprimand us. Rose left the building, huffing. The general mood was deflated. There was a void where the adrenaline previously pumped, filled with twice the pain of withdrawal.

Suddenly I was distracted by 'Live my life' (Far East Movement ft. Justin Bieber) playing from my phone. Many pairs of eyes land on me as the music fills the sad silence of the room. For a moment I was confused myself. Then I dig out the pink cell phone under the slew of papers littering my desk. It is the epicenter of the noise, indicating it's the source. Now I may be fruity on occasion but I most certainly don't own a pink cell phone. Regardless, I pick it up, slide it open, and hold it to my ear. "Hey, this is Keric, I saw Rose leave and she looked upset," Keric said before I said get a word in. "I don't think she appreciated what you did. She texted me to say she joined one of our competitions, the 'Altruism is Golden' editing company."

"Shut up Kerick," I snapped, "you called my love struck cousin's phone! You're a complete insensitive douche!"

"...Oh...Sorry, I wasn't aware," Kerick explained, "Luli gave me two numbers. I called the first one and it went to voice messaging. So I called this number. I thought it was your office phone."

"Now you're making shit up!" I snapped and promptly slide the phone shut. I snapped my fingers, as the phone lands on the desk. "We have a co-douche bag," I announced. It was clear I had everyone's attention in an instant, so I shared the details. "I want this to be a surprise," I finished, utterly pleased with myself. The flames from my inside have found a release: my mouth. In minutes Kerick's picture is unearthed from an old newspaper, framed, and careful placed next to Rose's. A gold strip of paper underneath it reads: Co-Douche bag of The Month 11/20-1/15.

Next, everyone scurried back and forth, getting things ready as we organize a surprise party. "Hit the lights," Debo yelled. The lights are off.

The next few minutes were spent in a flurry as we arrange a last minute surprise party. I had a great view of the door in my hiding spot under my desk. The next few minute were agonizing; some of us barely able to sit still. "Nio I told you to go to the bathroom before," I heard Luli hiss. Or rather Nuoluli hiss to herself, fidgeting.

Finally the door opens, signaling the sweet release of those agonizing minutes has arrived. A confused Kerick pauses at the door. "Hello is anyone here," he calls out. "I must be late," he mutters to himself, "they must've closed early today." Before he knows what hit him, the lights are on and a bagful of confetti was obstructing his vision. Our cheering drowned out Kerick's startled yelp. Getting to stretch after being cramped under my desk was just the icing of the cake. Coughing, Kerick waved his hand in front of his face. "What's this about," he asked, looking around. None of us answered immediately and I felt the flames start to rise in my esophagus.

"Congratulations, you're a special employee!" Pieu told him, blowing a noisemaker in his face.

"What do you mean," Kerick asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"Look over there," Lana said, pointing at the unofficial douche bag wall. containing two pictures.

Kerick immediately made his way over to the direction Lana pointed at. He blinked as he got a closer view. A second of silence followed as he read the strip of paper. "I don't understand," he said, looking around at the crowd, we formed around him. Our eyes eagerly followed his every moment.

"You earned it, kiddo," I drawled, toying with the party hat in my hand. I let the string of the hat loosely slide around my wrist. "You were an insensitive douche for tying up my love struck cousins' phone!" My eyes had hardened so much they were fiery ice. "You had no right doing that! You deserve what you get." My well practiced accusatory tone made there was no room for disagreement.

Kerick' eyes landed on me, as if he just noticed I was there. "But it was a mistake," Kerick protested, "I explained it to you. I thought I was liked here." He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

A snort caused Kerick look to the left. "You're clearly are delusional," Obeki Lite snapped, "no one likes you! You don't have any regard for the phone calls other people expect." She huffed and folded her arms.

"You're fired," I told Kerick, simply. My eyes bore into his as his head whipped towards me. His expression was one of pleading.

"But you're not the editor-in-," he started to say.

"I'm in charge here," I sad, "Rita left me in charge." Kerick glances at Rita, who is watching us, amused. It dawns on him Rita is on my side. It would be ironic if she was on my behind.

Without notice, his face became stoic. "Right," he replied, curtly. He turned on his heel and went to his cubicle. A sliver of satisfaction tingled through me, seeing that anger. Yet the littlest sample had craving much more. On top of that, it was nearly impossible to satiate. I watched as Kerick packed his boxes and maintained the arrogant expression on my face. "You're a terrible intern," I told him, making sure to sneer.

I can clearly see Kerick's fist had clenched. I shiver as that delicious gratification surges through me. "I hope what comes around goes around," he says, evenly to me. I shrug with a smug smile. With a frustrated sigh, Kerick returns to packing. The fire is in my throat, it just needs to enter my mouth.

I turned to my computer, typing furiously. After a click of the mouse, I turned the computer monitor around. "Hey look it's Kerick," I announced. A picture of an angry tween boy behind a computer was on my computer screen. My co-workers swiveled around in their chairs or walked half way over to look. Kerick glances at us as my co-workers broke out into obnoxious laughter. Leaning back, I smirked up at him while I studied his expression, intently. With a slight shake his head at us, Kerick grabs his box and walks to the door with dignity. Loud jeers and laughter were the only sound for a few seconds. After Kerick passed through the revolving door, the jeers grew louder.

After Kerick disappeared it was if someone turned down the volume. The lack of reaction was literally painful. "Co-douche bag," Mbeki and a few others yelled on the top of their lungs, in a last pitiful attempt. Even though probability of Kerick hearing us was slim to nothing. He was probably 10 feet away by now if he was on foot. By car he was in the next block.

Still wound up, I glanced at the clock. The time indicated it was time for the interns to come, and I needed to get my fix so to say. I wasn't the only one judging by the collective restlessness. Our second failed attempt for a reaction left the atmosphere tense. It was of the same degree as in a pack of bulls having had food waved in front of them.

When the interns came around we were like a pack of starved wolves. It wasn't long until the first intern, Alex, slipped up on an article I was proofing. Already at my breaking point as I went through big withdrawals, I snapped. My coffee mug the intern fetched along with pens went crashing to the ground in a deafening crash. Everyone whipped around to me. Alex rushed to my desk after a surprised pause. "Sorry," he muttered, avoiding the seeping liquid from the broken mug, "I'll clean it up right away!"

 **"Good God. A fucking piece of shit from my ass could write better than this,"** I yelled. It wasn't an exaggeration. My turd was the editor-in-chief. **"How old are you? Five? Six?"** The boy was ten years younger, yet taller; I needed some way to put myself on top. **"What the fuck is wrong with you that you think you can write an article people want to read? The only people that like this crack-out piece of shit are other inbreds like you. Please, do the rest of humanity a favor and never, ever write anything again. Just to make sure, maybe you should jump off a cliff. Got it?**  
 **Good."**

Alex stared, lost for words for a second. He quickly recovered. "I-I'm sorry sir! I didn't know this company relied on the pesticide corp when I wrote about pesticides found in many products we buy," the guy, Alex Arcy, stuttered.

"Of course you didn't," Empariel replied for me, "you're a moron, who probably doesn't know what pesticide is!" I didn't blink an eye, I calmly let them continue. The anger was a carefully practice facade; this was true for all of us. Though sometimes the withdrawal got to some of us. However we still knew the game.

"You probably swallowed some pesticides before coming here," a blur of a boy, snorted. He high-fived the outstretched hand of a girl in yellow fur.

"You obviously never heard of a dictionary," Mandy told Alex, seriously.

"He's stupid from a diet of pesticide," Vivian said, "so of course he couldn't find it in a dictionary."

"He wouldn't recognize it if it was over sprayed him," Debo snickered.

"He'll use the pesticide cutting off his oxygen as an excuse!" Pieu Wachet snickered.

"Organic food won't help him here," Lana Lasse added, "with getting oxygen in there."

"I'm sorry! I'm so overworked it slipped my mind. I'm studying all night and expecting my first child," Alex explained.

"I don't believe you," Marie, a bitter girl, snapped.

Her friend Georgica nodded, exuberantly. "Pics or it didn't happen!"

"You're just looking for sympathy," Marie said.

"And by faking it," Georgica said, "you're insulting everyone really pregnant!"

"YOU'RE INHALING PESTICIDES WHILE YOU'RE PREGNANT? YOU DOUCHE OF NEXT MONTH! I COULD CHOKE YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS," Quene, a self appointed rum queen, yelled, madly. Without warning, she lounged towards the boy.

Crimi Terra, held Quene back by her shoulder. "We have some rules here," she whispered,. "unfortunately you can't do that." Quene nodded at her, attempting to calm down. Both females shot furtive glances at Rita's cubicle, yet Rita was asleep. Not even the commotion caused her to stir.

"No matter how much he deserves it," Avo Jack added.

"G-guys," the guy interjected, " _my wife_ is pregnant not _me_! I'm a guy I can't get pregnant! I didn't inhale pesticides either!" He stood there, the epitome of calm. The calmness emanating from him grated on my nerves.

"Shut up," Debose 'Debo' Tra snapped, "you _liar_! Stop making flimsy excuses when we call you out!" His shoulders were square.

"I don't think he'd lie about that," Maya, who was quietly standing off to the side, said. "Atleast he admitted his mistake." The commotion brought her out her cubicle.

I glared at her, my mood the foulest it's been all week. _Why couldn't these flameaters ever react properly?_ "Can it Maya! Do you have a problem with how we run things?"

Maya blinked at me in surprise. "No I-"

I held a hand up to cut her off. "I'm tired of your attitude You're so not invited to the Fireplace Editing Company Thanksgiving!" I glared at her. She was becoming a real party pooper.

Maya stared at me, incredulously. "But you're not the editor-in-," Maya begin to protest but a glare from me cut her off again. "Chief," she faltered, quietly.

"I have incriminating howlers from you about tacos not being in thanksgiving feasts," I snarled. "Along with distinct 'Altruism is Golden' owls that sneak into our building!"

Maya's incredulous expression remained on her face. "Flem, you can't be serious," she said, "I only said the Indians didn't bring tacos in the original Thanksgiving Feast." I held my hand up again to silence her.

"Save it Maya, I have the howlers," I snapped. My eyes became as wide as saucers. "Would I lie?" Maya was about to reply but I didn't give her a chance. "Unless you want to be blacklisted you'll leave right now." My finger jabbed at the chalkboard, located in the back of the room. "And things get around quickly in this paper."

"That's right," Rita said. Maya turned around to see Rita behind her, a quill scribbling rapidly on parchment in mid air. "Don't let the revolving doors keep hitting you on the way out," she said.

"Fine!" Maya spun around and stomped off to her desk. As she threw her items into a box, I thought she could do to be more angry. Minutes after Maya pushed her way out the door. Rita's quick quill gave her an update.

"Pipe down," she bellowed. The sound noisemakers filled the air as we celebrated, in an ironic, poetic reference to how Maya was a party pooper. "That party pooper joined the 'The King's Goblet is Sinful' Editing Company," Rita said once the noisemaker sounds ceased. That soured our moods, there were no need for noisemakers anymore. I dropped my noisemaker on my desk before stomping over to the blackboard. Angrily, I scribbled Maya's name on it in big letters below 'Blacklisted'.

The flames at my throat were slowly going down, making me sick. That's when I realized I totally forgot about Alex. Looking around the room I noticed his empty desk. "He left while you dealt with Maya," Loiz told me, reading my mind. Rita glanced up from her parchment as her quick quill paused. "Update! Alex joined the 'Altruism is Golden' Company," Rita announced.

I groaned. Those editing companies were known for criticized the Fireplace's methods often. Especially 'The King's Goblet is Sinful', who all but waged war on the Fireplace. But no matter what 'The 'King's Goblet is Sinful' editors said, they enjoyed the SAME EXACT guilty pleasure we enjoyed. That game we played where we made people angry; then dominated them to stand tall- concealing our flaws-on top of them. They just did it in more subtle ways. A good example would be their two former editors who left them permanently for 'Altruism is Golden' . I found it hilarious 'The King's Goblet is Sinful' condemned the Fireplace while simultaNiously doing the same thing. "Wolves in sheep's clothing" I called it in a retaliatory article.

"He was incompetent anyways," I grumbled, bitterly. The others muttered words of agreement before reluctantly returning to our work. We didn't even get to exploit his anger. The only one we truly got to **eliminate** was Maya, she was the only one who really liked this company. But it was because she was a major party pooper. She didn't even enjoy the game of walking on eggshells. A classic party favorite. Granted only she played it but she was the only one adept for she was our long time members.

As I glanced at my desk. At the edge was a framed list of my _10 Commandments of how I flame- I mean edit_ and picture of kwaii shaped buns, wearing little hats. At the center of my desk were howlers scattered, carelessly. Only a few remained unopened. However my spirits soared at just the sight of them. I licked my lips, in anticipation of the satisfaction bound to be found there. However, I was interrupted by a lucid shadow looming over my desk. My head snapped up as my beady eyes bore into the face of another intern. Her name was Fabius. She held her article out for me to edit. In one fluid motion, I snatched it. "So Fabius, you must be fabulous, huh?" I smirked at her, sensing another opportunity knocking at my cubicle door.

Her eyes never made contact with mine as she mumbled, "I hope to work my way there one day" She was met with no reply from me.

Scanning over, I noticed some typos and a wrong tense. A twisted smirk formed on my lips as I whipped out red pen. My furious scribbling was faster than my mind:

_Let's play a game, shall we? Yes? Fantastic._

_This game is called "Things That Can Write Better Than You". The rules are simple. Please correctly select which choice can write better than you:_

_A. My left testicle_

_B. A toilet-full of chunky diarrhea_

_C. An inbred midget clown who swims in choice B_

_D. All of the above_

_If you chose the correct answer, D, then you have won the following prize:_

_A spot in my coveted C2 "Stories My Editor-In-Chief Turd Out of My ** Could Write Better" (which, strangely enough was not one of the choices). Don't despair! Even if you didn't choose correctly, I will be kind enough to give you that prize anyway. Who said I don't have a heart?_

_Congratulations! Please continue to avoid the dictionary as if it were an oozing, puss-filled sore on an old hooker's a.s.s. And good grammar? Well, run away from it like it's a festering syphilitic itch you just can't scratch in public. Or in words you can understand: your fic sucks donkey balls, and that's what you wanted me to think, right? Because otherwise, I'd have to believe this was an actual attempt at writing and laugh the crap right out of myself._

_Best regards,_

_F. R_

Without bothering to glance up, I handed her article back to her. "Maybe your inbred, midget clown parents should've named you something more fitting than Fabius," I drawled. slowly looked up, savoring the distress on her face. A malign smirk I practiced many times in the mirror formed on my lips. Empariel cackled behind me, she too practiced the cackle many times in front of a mirror. Winnie smacked her glossy, sparkly purple lips in a satisfaction. It was apparent they _knew._

Like a fabulous display of waterworks, Fabius burst into tears. She dashed back to her cubicle with her hands over her eyes, in an amazing display of coordination. Not that I'd admit it even under torture. Throughout the rest of the day, she avoided everyone. Not that that prevented my co-editors from throwing paper balls at her all day. "Bulls eye," someone exclaimed. I whirled around in time to see a napkin covered strawberry hit Fabius on the head. Her feelings mirrored ours, perfectly. Fabius remained silent, packing with her wand. We watched her but she didn't give an indication she noticed us. To our disappointment, Fabius kept her back to us, hunching her shoulders. The girl, who threw the napkin covered strawberry, laughed contemptuously in a desperate attempt.

"What a brat," Casa Tucker, whispered, "she can't take any criticism." I looked to the right to see her. Her swivel chair had been was pushed closer to my desk.

"She still didn't' correct her mistakes," Yolanda Black said, doing what Casa did.

"Yeah," Casa said between bites of peeta bread.

"Entitlement issues," Lini muttered, snobbishly, walking over to the copy machine.

"I can fix that," Swidgard Hunter said, sliding out of the cubicle, "I bet she's a Mary-Sue!" She made a sign.

We heard a 'tut' sound from the other cubicle. Rolanda, a Ravenclaw stuck her head out. "Shall I call the mary-sue hunters," she asked.

"No," Rita called out from her cubicle, "I don't have the insurance for it! "

Fabius headed over to my desk, all eyes following her. She dropped a howler on my desk. "Message for you," she simply said. As she walked away, I picked it up.

Apart from the snickering of my co workers, the room was silent enough to hear a pin drop. I tore the howler open, savoring every moment. The yell punctuated the silence like turning on the lights in a surprise party do. " _You are a terrible editor! You haven't even told me what's wrong with my story you just left disgusting images in my head. On top of that **you're a hypocrite! It's not correct American English to hyphenate 'toilet-full' ! You stated you speak American English and not British English!** You call yourself an editor?" _Along with my friends, I was laughing until that moment. My laughter immediately stopped while my friends' went on for another minute. The howler lay forgotten, as I closed the flap.

I let myself stew until once glance at me made their laughter die down. My hard stare lingered on them all, hanging out of their cubicles "I've been using incorrect English by hyphenating 'toilet-full' my entire career and no one told me," I asked in deathly quiet voice. My editor-in-chief turd never paid attention to what I submitted. She'd always accept whatever I pulled out of my ass for obvious reasons.

A heavy tension settled like a thick fog in the room. You could cut it with a knife . "WELL," I demanded loudly, causing everyone to jump. As I glared at everyone in the room, save for Rita, no one made eye contact with me. Suddenly I jerked like someone threw cold water on me. An epiphany hit me. The downfall of the Fireplace Company was clear as the sky outside to me. Unable to bear the thought a second longer, my hand slammed on the desk. That got everyone to look me in the eye. It pleased me to have the power to snap them out of avoiding me. . _"We can't win over these people, them people if they point the mistakes we make."_ I snarked. No one replied.

Huffing, I turned back the hastily sealed Howler on my desk. It occurred to me I didn't hear the howler end, in reality I just paused for awhile when I closed it. Reaching over, I picked up the howler, ignoring my co-workers, and opened the flap. "I-I thought about it and one thing from your review really hit me. Your left testicle," Fabius's howler quietly flowed from it, "I realized I was being immature. I don't even know how many inches you are so I should listen to you without arguing. I'm going to redo my article with your corrections and resubmit it." My jaw almost fell open.

The tension in the room was dissolved after the soothing voice filled it. Winnie's chair squeaked as it slid across the floor to my desk. "She's listening to us?" I nodded, not sure what to say. I looked across the room at Fabius's cubicle. She seemed to be hiding in it, but I caught her peaking out twice. She must be naive enough to be a sucker, she must be a sucker.

"Fabius come out," I called. Fabius slowly came out of her cubicle and walked to my desk with all eyes on her. "Congratulations, you're the first intern to survive the Fireplace!" I broke out in a grin. Her shoulders dropped in relief and everyone came out of their cubicles.

"Thanks," she exclaimed. After a few minutes we dissolved into a discussion of how many inches I was down there. All the girls, young and old, partook in the conversation.

_3 months later_

In time I begin to see something else in Fabius. She had something in her that set her apart from the other interns. There was something familiar I could recognize in her eyes. Then it clicked one fine day when she came up to my desk to resubmit my article to me. She possessed the same hunger we all had in common; that desire to be an energy vampire. "I see you're resubmitting this," I said to her, "nice."

"Thanks," she said, softly. My eyes followed her as she walked away. I looked down at the paper she handed me.

 _The dangers of an inbred midget clowns drowning in Flem Risely's left testicle's diarrhea is monumental if this publishing company wasn't avoided like a puss-filled sore on an old hooker's a.s.s_. _I know tax benefits are for those who really need it but you are indifferent to our plight as if this is a festering syphilitic itch you just can't scratch in public. This is so unfair it sucks like donkey balls! If you try to tell me we really do not need the tax benefit I'll laugh the crap out of myself._

When I read it I couldn't stop the tears from falling. "Fabius," I yelled, "come over here." Fabius scurried over like scared puppy. "See with a little tough love," I told Fabius that day, "you _can_ be almost as good as us!" I broke into a grin and tears fell down Fabius's face. "Welcome to the fireplace!" Clapping echoed in the cavernous building as everyone was on their feet, clapping.

Fabius kept her head down, humbly. "Thank you for the opportunity, sir," she said, quietly. "I'll forever be grateful!" Finally her eyes met mine as she raised her head, her eyes shining in awe.

Unfortunately the joy didn't last too long. It turns out our paper was met with a bad reaction. I saw my prediction come to fruition as our paper shut down. It was reported by the Salazar Slytherin Union. The building was boarded up while we tried to sell it; not that stopped my co-workers from trying to break in. That is until the building was demolished a week later. My competition breathed sighs of relief, even though all of our mudslinging barely left a dent on them.

Everything changed after my career was flushed down the toilet. A few years later a Lord Stalkerbotmort rose again, bidding everyone "a nice abuse free day". With the use of the unforgivable, illegal redbot he started the Salazar Slytherin Union in the same spot. Luckily Harry Potter found horocruxes on fanlore and used the elder captcha to counter the redbot. As for the Salazar Slytherin Union, it fell into disrepair.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story to prove I was indeed an editor who possessed the ability to write a story, that told you of the Fireplace's true experiences back in the day. RIP day of making unrelated crayon fucking jokes, welcoming fresh prey to our den, and talking to the females of the forum about my private parts.


End file.
